


Sit Tight

by perdiccas



Category: Heroes - Fandom
Genre: Dirty Talk, M/M, PWP, Phone Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-07-15
Updated: 2009-07-15
Packaged: 2017-10-02 10:50:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perdiccas/pseuds/perdiccas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sylar calls Luke and talks dirty to him. Luke's mom is in the room and Luke can't let on what's happening on the other end of the line.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sit Tight

**Author's Note:**

> Luke is 17.

The phone rings shrilly. Once, twice, three times…

“Luke!”

“What?”

“Answer the phone!”

“I’m watching TV and you’re _right there_!” He’s comfortable and there’s a Buffy marathon playing. Between Eliza Dushku’s legs and David Boreanaz’s arms, the only time Luke wants ever to move again is to go beat off in the bathroom. He traces his fingers over the rough-edged hole in the armrest where Agent Simmons had been pinned down with a screwdriver.

The phone stops ringing. In its absence, his mom glares at him and he glares back.

It starts to ring again.

“Mooom!” he whines, gesturing at the TV, at the ass-kicking and the vampire slaying; at the girls in tight skirts doing roundhouse kicks and the guys in leather pants.

“I’m working, Luke. Now answer the damn phone.”

“Fine!”

He stomps over to the phone, collapsing on a nearer chair. “What?” he snaps into the receiver.

“Now, now, Luke,” a deep, gravely voice chides. “Your telephone manners are terrible.”

“Oh,” Luke gasps. “Oh! Sy--”

“Uh uh uh, Luke. No saying my name. We don’t want Mommy to worry do we?”

“No,” Luke breathes. He bites the inside of his cheek to stifle the whoop of joy that’s threatening to escape. From the corner of his eye, he glances warily at his mom where she sits at the dining room table, struggling to do her taxes.

“I’ve missed you, Luke,” Sylar breathes.

“Oh! I… I’ve…” he stutters, not daring to believe that Sylar isn’t mocking him.

“Who is it, Luke?”

“Nothing, Mom. No one,” he babbles.

“Oh come now, Luke, you can lie better than that.” Sylar laughs softly.

“It’s just a--”

“Don’t say ‘friend’! You have no friends, remember,” Sylar hisses urgently. “She won’t believe you.”

“Luke?” she asks again. “If you think for one second I’m letting you out this house tonight to go make trouble…”

“No! No, Mom. It’s just a kid from school.”

She rolls her eyes and shakes her head in disbelief. His own mother doesn’t think he could make a friend.

“For lab. We have to do a report. He got stuck with me and we have to like, talk about volcanoes and shit.”

“Don’t swear,” she mutters but her eyes are down, frowning at months old receipts.

“She knows you’re lying,” Sylar says. “But she doesn’t really care. She’ll pretend that she was taken in so that she won’t blame herself when you end up in juvie again.”

Luke swallows loudly, Sylar’s breath heavy in his ear. Quietly, Luke whispers, “Yeah, I know.”

“I missed you, Luke,” he says again, and this time Luke isn’t so quick to decide that Sylar’s only teasing. “I would have called sooner but your phone line was tapped.”

“Wait… what?” Luke glances at his mom, wondering if she had known that they were being spied on.

“Mmm hmmm,” Sylar purrs. “And Luke? Mommy’s gonna be pissed when those nine-hundred numbers show up on the bill.”

“Oh!” Luke swallows dryly, tugging at the collar of his t-shirt as he flushed a deep, hot red. He smiles weakly when his mother looks up and narrows her eyes. “I, um…”

“Just missed me too?” Sylar’s laughter rumbles in his ear. “But don’t worry; the Feds got tired of listening to you jerk off every night to the sultry voices of Madam Marie’s Minxes. Their only interest in you was me and when I didn’t show up they moved on to other leads.”

“Oh… good, I guess?” Luke knows he should feel relieved; the FBI had stopped dragging him for questioning weeks ago and now his house is bug free, but all he feels is ticked off that they’re so obsessed with Sylar that they can’t see what a threat Luke is too.

“Oh now, Luke, don’t pout…”

“I’m not pouting!” he whines and his mom snorts. Luke glares at her and she holds up her hands.

“Sorry, sorry!” she mouths and goes back to the forms in front of her, still grinning to herself.

“You needn’t worry; they’ll be back for you soon.”

“What?” Luke’s heart is suddenly in his throat and the hand that holds the phone trembles a little with the wave of panic Sylar’s far too calm pronouncement brings. He remembers the burn of the Taser and the disorienting, stomach churning drugs. Suddenly, he doesn’t want anyone to notice him, if that’s what being noticed gets you. “What do you mean?”

“You’re on a list, kid. It’s a big, long list and your name is right at the top for being a danger to the nation. What did you think? That you could mess up Homeland Security’s best attempt to catch me and they’ll just let you walk away with a psych evaluation and a rap on the knuckles?”

“I don’t know?” he stutters, head reeling, fist clenched around the phone.

“Luke?” his mom breaks in. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, Mom. Fine, stop eavesdropping, would you?”

“Don’t tell me what to do in my own house, Luke Campbell! You’re lucky I let you use the phone at all after all the stunts you’ve pulled! I--”

“Mooom!”

Sylar’s cackling in his ear and Luke is blushing harder, shifting uncomfortably and waving his hand to shoo his mother away.

“Can you yell at me later? Please?” he begs.

“Behave yourself,” she orders, looking pointedly at him.

He takes a deep, wavering breath and concentrates on Sylar’s laughter to centre himself. He could snap and kill her now, but Sylar might hang up.

“Sorry about that,” he says, as calmly as he can manage. “So what… um, what were you saying… about, y’know?”

“Smooth, Luke. She’s going to think I’m your dealer or something.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t know…” he trails off, helpless and confused.

“Relax. Look bored and pretend I’m telling you about that science project bullshit. Can you do that?”

“Yes,” he says, deliberately staring at the wall ahead with dull, glazed eyes when what he really wants to do is grin and tell Sylar all the brilliant lies he’d spun and how the FBI had swallowed them, hook, line and sinker.

“They know you have an ability, Luke. Those men that attacked us in the diner?”

“Uh-huh,” he mutters.

“That’s good, Luke. They’re a special task force. They’re rounding up people like us. Now, listen. Don’t try to leave town. Don’t get into trouble. If you give them an excuse, _any excuse_ to pick you up, they will. They’re itching to do it. And these guys aren’t gonna fall for your cute little stories about how you were just looking to bum a ride to LA. Say ‘okay’ and sound like you couldn’t care less. If you’re quiet too long, your mom will get suspicious.”

“Okay.”

“Here’s how it works, Luke. They can’t detain you until you’re eighteen. Your mom blamed me for Simmons’ murder, so other than getting in a car with a dangerous stranger they can’t pin anything on you.”

“Okay?”

“Don’t sound so interested. And don’t say you’re sorry!” Sylar snarls as Luke’s mouth tips open automatically. “When you’re eighteen they can swoop in on grounds of national security and you’ll be gone…” Luke hears Sylar snap his fingers in the background. “Like you never existed.”

“So, uh…”

“What should you do? There’s nothing you can do.”

“Oh.” Luke swallows, his mouth is dry. His life was going to be over before it began and the three days he’d spent with Sylar would be the only happy memory he’ll have to get him through a life in prison.

“Don’t sound so sad, Luke. You just sit tight.”

“And…?”

“And hope that I get there before they do.”

“And if you don’t?” he asks.

“Well, then you’re fucked.” And Luke thinks Sylar must have called just to be cruel because he’s laughing like it doesn’t matter that in less than two months, Luke’s world will shrink to an eight by ten cell if he’s lucky and if he’s not he’ll become some ex-Nazi scientist’s lab rat.

“Please,” he whimpers. “What can I do? Tell me what to do.”

“You could give me a reason to come back,” Sylar’s voice is deep and dark, full of unspoken threats and obligations that Luke doesn’t think he really understands. But he’ll do anything; the consequences won’t matter as long as Sylar comes back to get him.

“How? What do you need?” he asks, knowing he sounds too desperate to be talking about science fair volcanoes.

“You can tell me the truth.” In the background, Luke can hear something rustling, something creaking and Sylar sighs like he’s lying back.

“Okay,” Luke mutters, trying not to sound too eager. “Okay, sure, I can do that.”

To his mother he says, “We can make papier-mâché, right?”

“Sure. I guess,” she shrugs, looking nonplussed, as Sylar says, “Nice touch.”

“Do you like me, Luke?”

“Er… sure,” Luke mumbles, not sure how much of the truth he should confess. “I mean, of course. Yeah, I do.”

“Good,” Sylar breathes. “In every interrogation, Luke, always know the answer to the first question you ask.”

“What… what do you mean?”

“I used to hear you, Luke, in the mornings. Motel walls are so thin and you never bothered trying to be quiet, did you? You wanted me to hear you, I know you did. I miss hearing you.”

“I don’t… I don’t understand,” he says quietly, hoping his mother won’t overhear.

“Tsk, tsk, Luke. Now that is a lie.” Luke thinks he hears the rumble of a zipper dragging down and his mouth goes dry. “No, Luke. I think you know exactly what I mean; every morning you’d stand in those dingy showers, touching your dick and whispering my name. Did you think I wouldn’t know? That I’d think it was a coincidence that every motel we went to reeked of sex?”

“Oh shit,” he mutters.

“Luke!” his mom snaps, and _oh holy crap_ he doesn’t need her glaring at him when he’s sure that steady slick sound that he can hear is Sylar jacking off.

“Sorry!” he moans miserably, to his Mom, to Sylar, to the fake kid about a fake report.

He draws his knees to his chest and curls up in the chair, praying she doesn’t tell him to get his feet off of the furniture. Pitching a tent in front of his mom is going to scar him for life, he’s sure.

“Oh god, Luke, do you know how often I’d touch myself while you touched yourself?”

“Oh my god,” Luke whimpered. “We shouldn’t… I can’t…” he says, trying to keep his voice from cracking not wanting to look at his goddamned _mom_ but needing to know she wasn’t looking.

“Yes, we can,” Sylar groans. “I can.”

The slide of skin on tight skin is getting louder, going quicker. It sounds slicker now and all Luke can picture is a hard cock with a glistening tip and Sylar’s broad, long fingered hands wrapped sexily around it. His own dick is aching, trapped against his fly, between his stomach and his thighs as he hugs his knees under his chin defensively. He sneaks one hand down, just to move things around and ease the pressure. A pitiful, gasping sigh escapes and he has to cover it with a fake cough.

“Oh yeah, _Luke_,” Sylar growls, his voice shuddering through Luke’s ear straight to the base of his dick until his whole body is ringing with it. “That’s it, don’t be shy. Let me hear you.”

But Luke doesn’t dare, not when his mom is looking at him so curiously and not when can hardly breath, terrified he’ll cream himself before her disapproving gaze.

“Talk to me, Luke,” Sylar orders, sounding as near far gone as Luke feels.

“About what?” he stutters.

“Anything,” Sylar groans, guttural and panting. “Volcanoes,” he laughs

“I don’t know anything about volcanoes,” Luke whines. He scrunches his eyes shut and digs his nails into his palms. In his ear he hears a stream of _LukeLukeLuke, ah! Ah! Ah! Yeah! Luke!_ as Sylar comes. He finishes with a lazy groan and a breathless chuckle.

“You’d better learn quick,” Sylar says. “Or you’ll blow your cover. Don’t forget the papier-mâché. ”

“Asshole,” Luke hisses.

“Luke!”

“I’ll leave you to explain yourself to Mommy. Oh, and Luke? Be a good boy while you wait for me.”

The phone goes dead.

“See you ‘round,” Luke whispers to the dial tone.

His mom is standing two feet away with her hands on her hips and a scowl on her face, and there’s no way out for Luke unless he kills her then and there. But Sylar said be good and racking up a murder is as far from good as it can get. He’s gonna have a lot to talk about in therapy tomorrow.


End file.
